


Bitch

by NotHereNJ (efficaceous)



Series: Season 11 Fix It Fics [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 11x03 spoilers, And they both need Vee to smack them upside the heads more often., Ian Gallagher needs love, M/M, Mickey Milkovich Needs a Hug, Trevor sucks as a character, fix - it, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28205673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efficaceous/pseuds/NotHereNJ
Summary: How did Ian and Mickey get from the panic of the morning to the agreement of the next day?As a lot of people pointed out, Ian looked downright panicky when Mickey made a move to top him. What was going through his head and how did they get past that?
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Season 11 Fix It Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097000
Comments: 22
Kudos: 237





	Bitch

Mickey’s move takes him completely by surprise. The last time they’d talked about Ian bottoming had been right before he’d left Mickey at the border. 

“Take it, you dirty convict.”

Truth be told, he missed the old, dirty Mickey a tiny bit. Not that his husband wasn’t amazing in bed- fucking face to face was another level of intense. Except right now it was kinda like hate fucking, and he wanted to reach for the ball gag because Mickey. Would. Not. Fucking. Shut.  _ Up. _

He wrapped one hand around Mickey’s neck, careful not to push on his airway, just pressing on the blood vessels on the sides like he’d seen online. Maybe that would- nope.

“Thought you weren’t gonna fuck me until I got a real job, huh?”

“Oh, I got my eyes closed, pretending you’re a Jonas brother.” That was half a lie. His eyes were closed, but he was picturing Mickey at 17, with the spikey hair and scarf down to his knees, the way he’d bite his lip when Ian signaled the all clear.

“Which one?” 

He had to think fast, and could only come up with one name. “Uh, Joe.” He didn’t actually know which of the three brothers was which, only that they were a collection of hot men. 

“Fuck you, I’m totally Nick!”

Shit. 

Mickey’s foot narrowly missed his jaw as he initiated a position change- this wasn’t unusual for them. One or the other would have an urge to move differently, feel something more, and would go for it. Usually, Mickey wanted to be on top, sometimes Ian would want Mickey to ride his face, licking his fucked out hole until he came. 

This morning was different, somehow. Mickey’s energy was more aggressive, less pleasure centered and more focused on - maybe power? Ian didn’t know, didn’t like it.

“What the fuck?”

“Call me Nick, you Jonas-loving slut!” That wasn’t exactly new, either. Not the role play or the dirty talk, but the tone today felt more strident. Ian felt a lick of worry in his gut, but at least his dick was still hard, cool in the room’s air when it  _ had  _ been happily warm, ensconced deep in his husband’s ass just a moment before.

But instead of Mickey manhandling Ian onto his back, he’d pressed up behind Ian, his dick, wet with precum, slipping and sliding dangerously close to Ian’s asshole. Alarm bells began to ring in his head, and his heart started to race. 

“Whoa, hey. The fuck you doing?”

“I’m gonna get you pregnant. Come on.”

Ian slapped Mickey lightly on the shoulder, their universal yellow flag. It meant slow down, back off, gimme some room. To his credit, Mickey sat back on his haunches, disappointed but not pushing further. In his head, Ian could see a different disappointed face looking down at him, a different dick pointed at his body, and his heart rate kicked up another notch.

“This isn’t how we do it.” 

_ We _ . This isn’t how  _ we  _ do it, Mick. Not you and me. You don’t use me like that.

“Well, it’s not how we normally do it,” Mickey panted out. He still didn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation, had missed all of Ian’s slowly cresting panic signals, how all his muscles had tightened up and his breath was coming in hitching gasps that he was working hard to control. Oxygen in, carbon dioxide out.

“Been watching a lot of prison porn. Kinda feel like making you my bitch.”

_ Making you my bitch. Making you my bitch.  _

But it wasn’t Mickey’s voice Ian heard in his ears, it was someone else. Someone who didn’t love him, wouldn’t love him unless he did this for them. Someone who’d paid him, paid for him, like he was just a thing, an object, not even a person.

_ Fuck, fuck. _

Mickey leaned over, testing the waters, putting his hand on Ian’s thigh. Immediately, he pulled away, sliding further up the bed, suddenly feeling deeply exposed, particularly naked and vulnerable. His body was confused, wanting Mickey in some unusual way, but also not sure- what if it felt bad with Mickey’s dick? It was bigger than anything he’d ever taken before, more real. 

What if it felt good and he became a full time bottom? Would Mickey leave him?

“I’m not your bitch.” That was all he could think to say, too stunned by Mickey’s sudden moves to process what he was thinking or feeling, only that he wanted this all to stop Unexpectedly, he wanted to be far away from his husband, something that had never happened before. No matter how annoying or cranky Mickey got, Ian always wanted to be pressed up against him as much as he was allowed, touching him in some way. Now, the thought of any part of another man touching his body was making his stomach ache and his gullet rise in his throat.

“Well, when I bottom, I power bottom,” Mickey continued explaining blithely. “So even then, you’re totally my bitch.” 

It was as much the words as the actions that were making Ian nauseous, and Mickey’s heedless arguing was just exacerbating it. 

“And we’re done.” He needed to get away, go hide somewhere and process all this. Logically he knew it wasn’t an unreasonable request, he’d even offered on more than one occasion to bottom. But for some reason, the way Mickey had sprung it on him had unnerved him utterly.

“Ah, come on. Where you goin?” 

Ian couldn’t say he was going to go huddle in the shower and probably cry for no earthly reason he would be able to put into words, so he just improvised again, grumbling. “To whack off in the shower.”

He could hear his husband scoff as he headed down the hall and into the bathroom. The first thing he did was turn the water to its hottest setting and start the shower. Then he stared at himself in the mirror.

Ian Gallagher was seventeen the first time he sold himself to a stranger. The old guy didn’t want anything more than to suck Ian’s ‘big fuckin dick’ but it had still been a lot to handle. 

After that first time, likely in the midst of his first manic episode, Ian did all sorts of things he didn’t like to think about. Got sucked off, sucked a lot of guys off, didn’t use condoms, fucked so many men he couldn’t keep track. Never got fucked though.

Had plenty of names called at him. By clients and assholes on the street.

_ (His mind called up Mickey, on a snowy sidewalk, cursing out men who tried to treat him like meat.) _

The constant cycle of being used by men had started with his being a prop in his father’s schemes. That hadn’t been the worst, by a long shot, but it had started a pattern in his life, one that Ian felt helpless to break free of for so many years. 

From Kash, even though at first he hadn’t recognized the uneven power imbalance, who was using him to satisfy some pedophilic urges, Ned slumming it with him, to the strip club where Ian ‘willingly’ sold his body, thinking once again that he was the only holding the reins.

That seemed to be the rhythm of his adulthood. Take steps that he thought would bring him closer to autonomy and respect, only to find out that the whole time he was being judged and used, discarded and alone.

He’d thought his relationship with Trevor had been healthy, progressive even. When Trevor’d made the ultimatum, that friendship wasn’t on the table, Ian had been baffled, unclear on why or how he should proceed. But his life was lacking that thrill, the feeling of sharpness and reality, that he’d had unmedicated. _ (With Mickey, before the bipolar had taken hold.)  _ So he’d given in, thinking it would be easy enough to pull back, away, out, if it got too weird.

It wasn’t. Every time he put up a boundary, Trevor had bullied, ignored, manipulated, and belittled him until Ian had meekly agreed to let it slide. Just let one more thing slide, until he was on his knees, folded over the bed, letting Trevor fuck him with a cold, plastic dick, feeling too full and uncomfortable but unable to protest, afraid of being left.

Because wasn’t that what all his issues came down to? Fear of being left alone, tossed out like the trash he used to believe he was?

Ian knew he was being dramatic. He’d left Kash, ended it. Same with Ned. He’d left the strip club, left everyone, in the end, but only because he felt he had no choice. Was Mickey now going to put him in the same position, of having no choice but to end things a mere nine months into their marriage?

He was getting too far in his head, he recognized as he scrubbed his body in the too-hot water. 

That’s how this had all started, all those men playing mind games, getting in  _ his  _ head and making him do stuff he didn’t want to, or even if he wanted to, shouldn’t have been doing. His shame at letting Trevor get to him emotionally had been nothing compared to his complicated feelings about letting Trevor fuck him.

For all that Ian tried to tell himself it wasn’t  _ really  _ getting fucked if it was a strap on, or that it didn’t really count because he hadn’t come, his heart knew otherwise. He’d given away his gold-star status because he’d let Trevor manipulate him, and then so much more so after Monica’s death. 

He shook his head, warm soapy water spraying the shower curtain and quickly finished cleaning himself. He hadn’t been hard anymore, had no urge to get himself off after the mini panic attack that Mickey’s overtures had provoked, but now he had to go back out there. 

In their shared room, Ian dressed in silence, trying to think of how to start the conversation. Mickey lay back on the bed, hand full of his own cum, a blissed-out look on his face. 

“Hey, breakfast and then we gotta leave in 5, ok?” Ian nodded to his husband to wipe off his hand on the nearest ( _ hopefully dirty _ ) tee shirt, and they headed downstairs.

Breakfast was no time to talk, too quick and too crowded for more than a cursory squabble over who was the bitch. 

That word again. 

_ Bitch _ .

Female dog. The one who took it. The harpy. The ol’ ball and chain. Ian didn’t see himself as any of these- he wanted to be a hero, still, in his heart. He and Mickey had saved each other so many times and from so many things, and he still wanted to do that, but right now it felt like he was the one dragging them forward and Mickey was digging in his heels like a bad mule.

Work didn’t go better, and then he was at the bar, trying hard to open up to Mickey, who was having none of it. The worst part was that his husband looked particularly tempting in light grey sweats and gleaming muscles. His lust and his fear got all twisted up, and Ian exploded. They wrestled until Vee broke them up, sitting them down.

She wasn’t wrong, either. They were a team now, not keeping score or chalking up points against each other. 

After Debbie’s little explosion in the kitchen at dinner, they’d headed back upstairs, each eyeing the other warily, unsure of where they stood. 

Mickey lay face down on the bed, away from Ian, clearly trying to shut him out, shut any attempt at conversation down. But Ian knew how to handle this, this he had strategies for. He just had to be fucking brave enough to expose a new, broken part of himself he’d kept hidden from Mickey all this time.

He sat on the edge of the bed, running one hand up Mickey’s back and shoulder, not trying to move him, just centering himself. He could do this.

“You know I’d do...  _ that  _ for you, right? You just can’t spring it on me in the middle of shit.”

Mickey turned towards him, eyes bright and face soft. He took up Ian’s hand where it had fallen on the bed, and held it in his own, tracing the long fingers with his shorter ones.

He shrugged, not meeting Ian’s gaze. “Yeah, man I just- sometimes I say shit, ya know? In the moment. Doesn’t mean we gotta do that. Not today, not ever.”

Ian knew all that. He knew that sometimes the absurdities that came out of Mickey’s mouth bore no relationship to what he was actually thinking or feeling. But this was important- he had to get his point across. 

“I want to though! It’s just- calling me your bitch, that felt really fuckin’ bad. Like you didn’t care who I was, like I was just your sex toy.”

Mickey’s mouth opened like he was about to protest, and Ian rushed his words, making sure he wouldn’t be cut off. “I know that’s not what you think. But it, fuck, Mick, it triggered some old shit. From before, when you were away.”

His mouth shut again, Mickey eyed him, hand not stopping its careful petting and tracing of Ian’s, just letting him spill his soft guts for them to look at.

“You know how most guys treated me. Like my only value was my body and my dick, what I could do for them. Then Trevor, he used some social justice bullshit to fuck with my mind, not letting me think shit through. Bottoming, I mean. He pushed me, and I didn’t like it. I tolerated it, cause I thought I had to. But with you, I wanna try it. Not ‘cause I’m being fucking guilted into under the guise of progressivism, but because I love you and you thick cock and I wanna show it every way I can.”

He stole a glance at Mickey’s face, seeing that open expression still there, his mouth slightly open and his lashes low across his cheeks, still staring at their entwined fingers.

“I love you and we trust each other. So I want you to fuck me, ok?”

“I didn’t know about that.” The words were quiet, so unlike Mickey’s usual speaking cadence that Ian wasn’t totally sure he’d heard it until more words came tumbling out. “That was when Monica kicked it, right? And I was- you know. Gone. Understand why you didn’t wanna be alone, and, uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Ian nodded. “I know: none of that is on you, Mick. You just took me by surprise this morning and it felt like I was back in all that shit again. You gotta warn me next time you wanna fuck me, ok? And none of us is the bitch in the relationship. We’re on the same team, from here on.”

Mickey leaned in then, putting all his weight on Ian’s shoulder, so their bodies formed a loose triangle until Ian wrapped his arms around Mickey, pulling him in close, burying his head in the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply, letting the familiar scent ground him. 

“Still gonna call you a bitch when you piss me off,” the muffled voice came, and Ian grinned. 

“Maybe you can come up with some other sexy names we can use, you’re the king of nicknames anyway, right?”

  
  



End file.
